


The grass not so funny with crimson fries.

by Albme94



Category: creepy voodoo doll, possesed doll
Genre: Drugs, F/M, Murder, Psychological Horror, Sock Puppet, Weed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 07:06:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14279619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Albme94/pseuds/Albme94
Summary: ''As the air went in and down; swirling around her lungs, her pupils went wide, her smile faded, and she stood more up right, it was different for her.Two more inhales, she can’t remember anything: Who? Where? What?He turned around but saw nobody ‘’Amanda?’’ he walked inside but saw only the front door open, dog wandering the streets.''





	The grass not so funny with crimson fries.

‘’How do you _know_ if this will even work?’’ Amanda says scoffing, between her fingers is a joint. Charlie smirks and leans forward to snatch it back, but she rushes an inhale ‘’no-no—I’ll do it’’, as the smoke fills her lungs she chokes back a cough. ‘ _’see?_ ’’ eyes glistering, Charlie smiled ‘’yeah, **such** a _badass_.’’  
  
After a few more inhales the joint was gone, chocolate milk and crackers went down as fast as he had said they do for stoned people. Amanda often wondered if it was just a ruse, but it seems to be of truth.

She didn’t feel the _‘feeling’_ yet, everyone always spoke about in movies, shows and ‘’on the street’’. He rolled up another one ‘’ready? This is the **good** _stuff’’_  
Amanda pointed at the ash from the last ‘’what about **that**?!’’ She gasped, irritated over maybe he just gave her a casual cigarette.  
‘’ **Oh** , it _was_ **_weed_** , but a _weaker_ kind… to get your body into it before infecting it with the strong shit’’ he shrugged his shoulders as he rolled it up. Amanda got to admit it made sense.

They stood outside on a veranda, the moon shined into the ocean; not a single cloud in the sky, it was a quiet night. ‘’Here, the virgin blow’’ he smirked and winked, she nudged him and laughed ‘’the _only_ blow tonight’’ she said before consuming the toxic, yet fun, grass.  
As the air went in and down; swirling around her lungs, her pupils went wide, her smile faded, and she stood more up right.  
‘’Haha! _See_? **That’s** the **_feeling_**!’’ He took it and inhaled, still laughing after but it was _different_ for her.  
Two more inhales, she can’t remember anything: Who? Where? What?

Charlie took the opportunity to water the plants with his warm… ~~not~~ water.  
He turned around but saw nobody ‘’Amanda?’’ he walked inside but saw only the front door open, dog wandering the streets.

‘’Alright, ok _so_ , her phone is here, dog didn’t follow her… Uh, shoes? Nope still here and jackets—shit. **Shit**! **Fuck**!  ok _ok’’_ He paced around the room, fingers going through his hair. ‘’Ok, **ok** **_ok_** _ok_ …’’ He muttered and put on his shoes, with the dog in a leach, and walked out into the dark.

 

A few miles away a jogger had stopped to tie his shoes; earbuds in place, hot air steaming out from his mouth into the crisp night.  
He looked up ‘’hello?’’

When he saw nothing, he returned to his shoes, with pace.  
A shadow gloomed over him, he gasped ‘ _’who_ are yo—‘’ a knife sliced him over the throat.  
The body got dragged into the bushes, where it were cut up and dissected appropriately.  
Limp legs dragged a person back to the bushes, where clothes were added accordingly, before ultimately climbing down to the sea.

 

Several _hours_ had passed since Charlie went out, he had returned with no trace of Amanda. It was at the brisk of sunrise and he entered the house, ‘’should I call her _parents_? The **police**?’’ He took off his shoes and walked out on the veranda again, ‘’should I **leave** _or_ **_stay_**?’’ He looked out the ocean, wondering.  
In the corner of his eyes he sees a pink dot.

‘’That _can’t_ be… can it?’’ He hurries down, and sure enough there lies Amanda, slightly bloody and sound asleep.  
Charlie shook her body **‘’wake the _fuck_ up you _piece_ of _shit_!’’**  
‘’asdfghjkl?!? _What_?! Who?’’ Amanda stood up, legs giving out and eventually looking up. ‘ _’Crap_ , it’s like I’m _hungover_ …’’ She looks at him ‘’what’s going on?’’  
He looks at her, breath is shaky and his body trembles with _anger_. He leans over and hugs her. ‘’You scared the _living_ **crap** out of me’’  
He held her tighter ‘’I’ve been looking for you’’  
She pushed him off ‘’What do you _mean_? I’ve been here all the time?’’  
He sighed, ‘’of course you have…’’

 

  
They walk inside, an hour later he takes the bus home. Another hour goes by before the news of a horrific murder, only miles away, comes on radio and TV.  
Amanda and Charlie text about it, both confused and glad neither of them got caught in this.  
‘’No _prints_ or _shoe_ marks, the _weapon_ is even **gone** … they’re checking the ocean… You know _, in case_ the killer threw it in.’’ Charlie mumbled over the phone, eating a sandwich.  
‘’yeah… Logical.’’ She replied, she felt off, like something was different but had no clue what it was.  
‘’are you _alright_?’’  
‘’Yeah, I’m ok. I didn’t know him.’’  
‘’I got walk the dog now, talk to you tomorrow…’’ He ended the conversation.

‘’something is **off** , like I… _know_ **_something_** …’’ she said to herself.  
A quick shower later, she crawled into bed herself; where the _dreams_ began…

 

A small grey figure looms over her, its eyes pierce through her and into her _soul_. It whispers dark things, things that cannot be true? Unholy creature…  
The steel glide though the warm liquid bag like its air, the crimson pours out; the knife goes down, out, down, out and it repeats until the figurine is nothing more than a potato bag with French fries dripping out.  
The knife gets pulled out one last time, in the reflecting is a familiar face, not a face she sees often but… she _knows_ her.

Amanda awakens with the scenes still fresh in her memories, gasping for air and sweat lingering close to her skin.  
‘ **’blood** , so _much_ **_blood_** …’’ she whispers ‘’but _not_ my own?’’ she looked at her hands. Her gaze shoots up where she holds eye contact with the sock puppet she made a few days ago.  
‘ _’You_ …’’ she swallows, her eyes cannot believe it.  
The grey, badly made puppet made from tread, buttons and an old sock sits on her desk… Its default look is sad but now it’s… _smiling_?  
She rubs her eyes, suddenly its on her chest; some _force_ holding her down.  
If sandpaper had a voice? It would be  this voice, it spoke a single word.  
  
‘ **’Me.’’**

 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, so I made a sock puppet... and it was gonna be just that, but then i thought 'nah i'll make it a voodoo doll' and then it was creepy... and i named him Billy and then i wrote this and yep here we are... scarred for life and Billy is giggling inside...


End file.
